


The Only Story

by Dramatological



Category: Hellsing, Original Work
Genre: Beauty and the Beast Elements, Death, Death and the Maiden, Eldritch, F/M, Fear, Love, Reincarnation, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-11-12 03:20:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18002843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dramatological/pseuds/Dramatological
Summary: "Do not offer the abomination your blood!  Do not accept blood from the abomination!  Do not hold prolonged eye contact with the abomination!  Do not engage the abomination in philosophical debate!  If the abomination passes you in a hallway, what do you do, Connor?""Wet myself, sir.""You wet yourself," the general nodded, "And then you clean that shit up and get back to your job, because this is Kali Incorporated and we do not fuck around."-=-=-=-This is not a fanfic about Hellsing, it is a love letter to Hellsing.  If you know Hellsing, it will feel familiar, if you do not, you are not missing anything.  Everything here is original work.





	1. Prelude

"Tell me the story, again."

The young woman didn't turn to look back at him, though he imagined he could see the sardonic twitch of her lips in the way her head tilted to one side, long locks of moon-silvered chestnut hair lifting in the midwinter wind, "Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess--"

The sound he made wasn't loud, but she heard it and stopped talking. Her head turned to listen, baring her nose and one eyebrow to his intent study. Wrinkled hands, papery and thin now with age clutched at the afghan in his lap, the afghan she had personally wrapped him in, "The other story," he directed in his wavering voice.

She turned away again, facing fully into the gale that whipped her long jacket around her legs and coiled her hair into serpents. Her voice was soft, carried off by the incoming storm, but it didn't matter. Not anymore. He had long ago come to terms with the fact that she sometimes seemed to speak directly into his head, "There's only one story, my master."

"So, the princess is Death?"

She went silent, as if considering the question before her shoulders lifted gracefully, "Does it bother you to think of Death as a beautiful princess?"

It was his turn to be silent, his eyes shifting to look out over the water. The full moon hung heavy in the sky, it's twin rippling and shearing in the waves the lapped the rocks. After a time, he nodded, "I suppose it does."

"Very well. Once upon a time there was an old hag--"

"But," he interrupted, his brows pulled down, "Which is she, really? A beautiful princess, or an old hag?"

The eldritch horror turned at last to settle her gaze on him. Her eyes glowed balefully, the color of dried blood, thin lips parted in a half smile, the moonlight glinting off her needle-sharp teeth, "There is only one story, my master."


	2. Chapter 2

"When this door opens, some of you will see tits, and some of you will see teeth. Why is that, Connor?"

"Because some of us are idiots, sir," the tall man standing next to him answered smoothly, not even bothering to stand up straight from his boneless lean against the wall.

"Yes, you are," the general replied, not looking at Conner, but instead letting his eyes sweep disapprovingly over the line of men -- boys, green boys -- standing in front of him. He could pick out the military ones from their bearing, straight backed and eyes forward, but all of them were in various stages of coiled tension, as if the holy grail was behind the door and he were just standing in the way, "Can any of you fine specimens of humanity tell me the first rule?"

The men exchanged glances before one of them put forward a guess, "You do not talk about fight club?" The general stared at him for long enough to impress upon the recruit exactly what sort of idiot he truly was.

"The first rule," the general imparted when he'd grown bored of humiliating the lad, "Is do not stick your dick in the abomination!" More exchanged glances, and one of them even snorted a laugh before going silent under the withering glare of the old man, "Every goddamn year, I stand in front of this goddamn door and tell a group of goddamn boys not to stick their dicks in the abomination. And what happens?"

"Someone tries to stick their dick in the abomination," Connor answered as if this speech were exactly as well rehearsed as it sounded.

"And then I gotta explain to their mommies why little Timmy can't have an open casket!"

"But she's such a willowy little thing," Connor's voice had taken on a wheedling tone, though he hadn't moved, his arms still crossed over his chest.

"Do not stick your dick in the abomination!"

"But I think she likes me," Connor pulled a hand away from his chest to look at his nails.

"Do not! Stick your dick! In the abomination!"

"But this time is special. I'm the real man she's been looking for."

The general didn't answer this time, choosing instead to look expectantly at the small group awaiting entry, "Do not stick your dick in the abomination!" they all replied, more or less concurrently, and the general nodded slowly.

He turned, stalking down the line to give the recruits a once over, pausing at the end to spear the two female recruits at the end with his glare, "I obviously have higher standards for you two," he said.

"I dunno, sir, I sometimes get distracted by my own tits," one of them answered with a brilliant grin.

The general decided he liked her. He didn't say that, just arching his most eloquent brow at her until she cleared her throat and looked down. He stalked back towards the door, hands folded behind his back, "Do not offer the abomination your blood! Do not accept blood from the abomination! Do not hold prolonged eye contact with the abomination! Do not engage the abomination in philosophical debate! If the abomination passes you in a hallway, what do you do, Connor?"

"Wet myself, sir."

"You wet yourself," the general nodded, "And then you clean that shit up and get back to your job, because this is Kali Incorporated and we do not fuck around."

"What if she picks one of us?" The general turned on a heel and pinned down the inquisitive recruit in his stare. The boy swallowed before shrugging his shoulders, "I mean, she could do that, right?"

The old man sighed, "Connor. What do you do if the abomination decides you're its new daddy?"

"I do not attempt to put my dick in it, sir."

"Finally, a man with some sense." He gave the boy a meaningful glare before looking away again, "If you get chosen, god's own choir of angels will come down singing Ode to Joy, with a couple'a naked babies holding a big sign that says 'Welcome to Godhood, population: You!' In the meantime, try to make it through the day with all your pieces intact."

The general chewed on the inside of his cheeks, considering the recruits before he sighed. The only real teacher around here was experience, "Connor."

"Sir," the man replied, finally peeling himself off the wall to stand up straight. He was silent as the old man left, the heavy outer door closing behind him with an ominously heavy thud. Once the sound faded, he looked over the recruits himself, as if he'd suddenly gained an interest, "Right. Whatever you see, or think you see, keep it chilly. You panic and you will not have a good time."

The recruits gathered closer as the man turned, pulling the large metal handle up before sliding the heavy inner door apart. He left it, half-open, a shaft of light pouring into the darkness beyond. They were elbowing each other to get closer, leaning over to peer, squinting into the velvet black.

Connor stepped into the room, walking confidently to the end of the light on the floor and stopping, the recruits crowding through the gap behind him and spreading out as they entered the room, his confidence convincing them that whatever had been said, there was nothing to fear.

Someone cleared their throat, feet shuffled, nothing moved in the gloom, "Now what?" one of them asked.

Connor just smiled and closed his eyes, speaking as if to himself, "Now the fun begins."

The words had barely left his lips when the light outside the room flicked and went out. A couple of gasps, one of the women gave a little startled cry. The sounds of movement and clothing before muttered curses came from several places, "Bloody mobile is outside."

"There's something…" one of the men trailed off, sounding a little concerned but not afraid, "Something's caught my-- Holy--!" Sudden activity, shoes on concrete, several of the recruits were moving, shouts of "What?" and "Where?" in as many accents as there were people.

"The floor!" another man shouted, "Something's on the floor!" Charged motion, the sound of flesh slapping against concrete, "It's got my leg!" Another startled cry, though not the women this time, one of the men. A thud, cursing before there was a shout, "Fuck!"

The recruits were sliding towards chaos around him, their panting gasps so heavy it drowned out most of the soft whimpering from his left There were sounds of a struggle, several people yelling, trying to figure out who was hurt, where the danger was, one of the men was now shouting "Fuck!" over and over again.

Connor felt it too. The weight settled around his feet like snowfall, piling on so gradually that the restricted movement was noticed after the fact. Icy fear crept down his spine like a single drop of sweat, tickling every hair it passed on the way. He reached down slowly, his hand remarkably steady for the wild beating of his heart, and reached into the cold, damp _something_ on the floor, wrist bared, palm up.

He didn't have to wait long. One of the questing tentacles in the mist slid over his palm before surging up his arm, coiling around his bicep, then up over his shoulder and down his chest. He stood slowly, his thumb rubbing compulsively at the weighty limb now sliding around his neck, as if he could soothe the beast.

Strangled wheezes on his right, the whimpering continued on his left. The clatter of something hitting the floor, hyperventilating, and still the man in the back screamed, the pitch of his voice rising with each repetition.

A second tentacle, then a third, slid over Connor's feet, coiled up his legs, burrowing into his pants leg and down the collar of his shirt. They tightened around his chest, squeezing his breath out in an involuntary grunt. His thumb continued its soothing as his second hand lifted to stroke the ones around his chest, the flesh scaled like a snake and oddly warm to the touch, "Shhh, shhh," he murmured under his breath, like the beast was a scared child.

The man yelling obscenities in the back suddenly shrieked as he was thrown past Connor with a rush of air. A grunt, a crack, a body hitting a wall, then the floor before the man went silent.

The limbs vanished suddenly, ripping away from him fast enough to leave friction burns around his ankle and wrists. A second later, a brilliant golden light flared into being at the far end of the room. It outlined the abomination, a bright line around darkness in the same basic shape of a woman.

Connor took a moment to look around at the recruits. One of the women had her hands over her ears, her eyes screwed shut, tucked into a protective ball on the floor, the other was staring, wild eyed at the woman. Several of the men were on the floor, starting to pick themselves up slowly, the screaming one unconscious, but breathing.

The beast's hair looked uncomfortably like fire, the candle light limning the strands. One of the recruits may have assumed that the threads lifting from her shoulders to undulate lazily were caused by air movement. Connor knew better. The long matchstick waved to one side, held aloft in long, elegant fingers, wisps of smoke still curling up from the end, "Cattails and clover."

"Ma'am," he answered simply, one hand holding the opposite wrist in front of his hips. No one else moved, still recovering.

"You bring me children," she said softly, her voice lilting with an accent no one recognized, smooth and ageless.

"Yes, ma'am," he answered again, watching her movements closely as she turned to look back as the group, hair of flames and rust red glowing eyes framing the endless black.

"Are they dinner?"

"No, ma'am."

A glint, a shift in the air around her and Connor would have sworn she was smiling, though he still couldn't make out her face, "Then why must you dangle them so temptingly in front of me?" A thin hand with long fingers pointed at the man she'd thrown against a wall, "That one bleeds."

"We'd best get him to a medic, then," Connor answered simply, lifting a hand to wave it at the man on the floor. Several recruits scurried over to pick him up, moving him towards the exit. The rest fled the room as well, and Connor back stepped towards the door, never looking away from the beast.

He was almost to the door when she spoke again, her voice pitched low, "You pet me like a dog and expect me to be soft."

"If I thought swatting you with a newspaper would work, ma'am, I'd do that, too."


	3. Chapter 3

It was mid morning. The recruits had gotten up before dawn, ran around the track several times, showered, shoveled down breakfast with the sort of single-minded intensity learned in basic training -- or prison -- and then they'd been lined up, and told they could all leave, now.

Meredith was watching the others tossing items into duffle bags, then duffle bags into the line of jeeps at the curb. They hadn't actually been told they must leave. It had simply been expected that they would. She settled onto the bench outside the glass-fronted office building next to the three men who also were not packing.

"So," she said softly, waiting for an acknowledging nod from one of the others before she continued, "I'm a grad student." All three men ceased watching the exodus to look at her instead. "Psychology." None of them said anything, so she kept talking, "UT, Austin."

"This is your thesis?" one of them finally asked, the dark one, hair in thin, short little twists on top and shaved underneath. He spoke with a spanish accent.

"Dissertation," she corrected with a nod, as if the difference didn't really matter.

The asian man at the end narrowed his eyes before he looked away, "Seems engaging the abomination in a little shrinkery should be on the general's list."

"Well," she said, one shoulder jerking up defensively, "They have thousands of hours of video, I qualified for the clearance, and passed the physical."

"You're not leaving," the third man said, his accent pointing towards British of some variety, "Puts you one up on them," he nodded at the line of jeeps, idling now as they prepared to move out. The other two men nodded in agreement before the four of them went silent again.

The last of the packers got into the last jeep and the first one pulled away from the curb before any of them spoke again, "I was in seminary," the Brit offered, glancing at the woman with a charming smile, "Before the SAS, I mean." He offered a hand to her, which she took, "Zayn Nanjiani."

"Meredith Bristol," she replied, a smile of relief spreading across her features.

"I did stunt work and fight choreography," one of the others put in moments later, grinning and shrugging, as of that were just as silly as being a grad student, "Then private security. Jason Kim."

The three of them looked at the black man who waved a hand eloquently, "Andre Santos. I taught capoeira, in Brazil, which led to the MMA circuit, which led…" He grinned, "To helping write the craziest dissertation ever presented at UT Austin."

"Y'all wanna sing Kumbaya, now, or can we get to work?" Meredith jerked up to her feet and spun around. Connor was standing just outside the doors, impressive arms crossed over his equally impressive chest.

When the three men joined her, Connor looked past them at the now empty road before he turned and marched back inside. He walked past the reception area, and a young man apparently manning it without a word and entered the secure areas via the small door behind the desk.

Inside was a control room of sorts, with numerous monitors showing views of the grounds, some hallways, the training area, the street, and a few places she couldn't identify. Several just cycled between tables of data with column headers she couldn't quite parse. There was a large map of the region tacked to a wall with little multi-colored pins stuck into it in disparate places. There didn't seem to a key anywhere describing what they were tracking.

A young man and an older woman were sitting in chairs in front of one monitor, both watching it raptly though nothing appeared to be happening. The view was the grainy green Meredith remembered from movies showing night vision goggles. There was a large rectangle on a flat surface, possibly with a person lying on top, but detail was sketchy.

"Definitely Chinese, but it sounds old. Might run that by Rob for dating, though I'm not sure we'll have enough for that," the voice, another man, was coming from one of the phones set at regular intervals around the desks.

"We'll do that. Thank you!" The woman leaned forward and moved the phone from the desktop to the cradle before she turned around and smiled, "You guys just missed vampire sleep talking. Which is easily the most absurd thing I've encountered working here."

"She talks in her sleep? In Chinese?" Meredith asked, suddenly as fascinated by the unmoving green blob as they had been.

The woman gave a short laugh, pointing at the screen, "She talks in her sleep in a lot of languages, some of which we can't identify." She rolled back in her chair and stood up, "Welcome to Kali, Inc. I'm Doctor Madan. This is Shane, from IT," Shane swiveled in his seat and gave a short wave while the Doctor continued talking, "I'm sure you have a lot questions, so…"

"How many languages does she speak?" Meredith was edging past the woman now, her hand skimming out to some loose pages on the desk, transcriptions.

"We don't know. Over forty. But how different do two dialects have to be to count as two languages? She'll speak the modern version one day, and an ancient version the next. Does that count as one language?" The woman shrugged, "A lot of questions around here are a lot more complicated than they seem."

"Standard weakness?" Zayn had stepped forward, straightening one of his cuffs as he looked around.

"Ah…" the Doctor rubbed her hands together, looking at Connor for assistance.

"The vampires you'll be facing are fairly standard. Sunlight, decapitation, wooden stakes will do, but that requires walking up to them. Stick with the silver alloy bullets and aim for the head or heart. Crosses will _not_ work, neither will garlic," Connor's eyes shifted towards the green screen, "She's different."

"We can't confirm any weaknesses for Kali," the doctor took over, "Not that we've tried anything, but they seem to get more powerful with age, and she's very, very old."

"That's not really her name," Jason put in, his eyebrows drawn together in a sceptical look, and the older woman laughed.

"No, no. Well, I don't think so. We don't know her real name, that's just what some of us call her."

"What do you call her?" Meredith looked up at Connor.

"Lucy."

"As in I Love…?" Jason asked.

"As in Sky With Diamonds," Connor replied, causing the other man to nod in approval.

"And how do we get on Lucy's good side?" Andre spoke up at last, straddling one of the chairs and folding his arms across the back.

The doctor twisted her lips as both she can Shane looked at Connor. A second passed in which no one spoke, "I'm not sure--"

"Give her things," Connor answered, folding his arms again.

"Wine and roses?" Andre pushed the man.

Connor smirked and huffed a short laugh, "Pieces of yourself. Secrets, shames. Fear and hunger and weakness. The sort of honesty you don't even use with yourself." He looked around the room at the recruits eying him strangely, "She's eaten all the people we pretend to be. So be someone she hasn't met, yet."


	4. Chapter 4

"When she's awake, she could be human," Connor began, looking across the room at the four recruits sitting at the long table set up near the door. They looked skeptical. He shifted before settling down on one hip against the large stone slab, his thigh pulling up so one leg dangled and the other braced against the floor, "She breathes. I realize you were a bit busy the first time you met her, but watch her, next time. She breathes, all the time, just like we do."

He glanced down at Lucy, lying on the slab behind him. She wasn't breathing now. "Right now she's more like a corpse than any other time. When the sun rises, she just… Stops." He picked up one of the pale arms by the wrist and held it up, shaking it so the hand waved limply, "You could set off munitions in here, she's not going to react." He set the arm carefully back down at her side and smoothed a hand down her forearm in a silent apology.

"Is that…" Jason grimaced, looking a little ill, "Is that why the general thinks we'll try to…" He waved a hand at the corpse on top of the altar, unable or unwilling to finish that thought.

"Stick your dick in her?" Connor gave them a grim smile, "She's aware of everything. She'll remember everything we do here, today. And if she's under threat, she can react, if she has too. Do not assume that because a vampire isn't moving or breathing or even conscious," he gestured with a spread hand over the vampire's chest, "That they are not a danger. She isn't killing us all right now because she doesn't consider us a threat."

"Can we go back to her breathing?" Meredith was squinting at him as if he were a particularly troublesome math problem.

Connor grinned, looking away from them for a second, "She's also got a pulse. The doctor has some theory with ten dollar words in it, but the gist is that her lizard brain is still in there, not just the higher functioning bits. Keeps her heart beating, keeps her breathing, blinking, coughing, sneezing, and swallowing. Her pupils dilate, and…" He trailed a fingertip up the corpse's arm, "She gets goosebumps. But only when the sun is down."

"Are you saying," Andre spoke up, "That there's no way to tell a vampire from a human without the sun?" The other three looked at him and he held up his hands, "Sharp teeth could be a fashion statement. I don't imagine her eyes glow all the time. So… Is this like witch trials? You can prove you aren't a vampire by successfully drowning?"

"Well, that's one way to do it," Connor shrugs before continuing, "You're right. Some vampires, especially young ones, are very difficult to detect. The older ones…" He trailed off, shaking his head, "They start to… feel wrong." He held up a hand, "I know, that's vague. Madan says we start to pick up on the parts of them that aren't human, and that makes them uncanny, and that makes them seem off, somehow."

"Forgive me for saying, but I don't think being 'off, somehow' is a good justification to shoot people," Zayn said softly.

"If you're unsure, hold them and wait for dawn. Trust me when I say no vampire will let you do that." Connor spread his hands and seemed about to continue when his watch dinged softly. He switched track, glancing at the time before looking up, "Sunset is coming. Clear out back to the control room. Leave the blood bag."

"Is that not what we were here, for?" Jason asked as they all stood up, sliding the chairs back under the table.

"Not this time," Connor said as he watched them gather their stuff -- Meredith had brought a notebook and was taking copious notes -- before moving towards the door.

All three men went through before the woman hesitated at the threshold. Just a second before she turned back, her eyes still narrowed at him, "The reason she didn't kill us all… It's because you were here." It wasn't quite a statement, and wasn't quite a question.

"We have an understanding," he answered before nodding at the door, "Get the lights on your way out." The woman noted his careful choice of words before she just nodded and slapped the switch on the wall, plunging the room into blackness then stepped out, sliding the heavy door closed behind her.

Connor pulled a lighter from his pocket and leaned over the beast to light the candelabra standing behind the altar. The beast did enjoy her theatrics. Slipping the lighter back into his pocket, the former marine settled in to wait. His hand slipped down to curl his fingers around her wrist, pressing at the pulse point on the underside.

A few moment later, he felt the first, slow, stuttering beat under the skin. He held his breath, awestruck at watching her come back to life. A couple of seconds later it was followed by the second, then a third as her heart ramped up into a rhythm. A second after that, she drew her first breath of the evening, and then her lashes fluttered as her eyes moved, then slit open.

When it was over, Connor exhaled slowly, pulling his hand away and stepping back from her altar, awaiting her pleasure. She slid gracefully to her feet and looked up at him, the glow in her eyes banked, now, hidden behind the amber irises. "I was wrong," she murmured, stepping past the marine to pad barefoot to the table.

"Ma'am?"

"You don't pet me like a dog," she says, picking up the blood bag and kneading it gently, "You caress me like an aspiring lover." She turned to look back at him, "You engage in courtship."

He watched her carefully, his head tilting before he nodded once, slowly, "If you still have all your human instincts, perhaps you will be more tolerant of a prospective mate."

She stared at him, unblinking and silent for a long time before she lifted the blood to her lips, "The instinct to eat and the instinct to breed are closer than you think. But your theory intrigues me. You may continue."

Connor took a step closer, "Yes, ma'am."


End file.
